


Home

by richietortellini



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Fluffy Overload, Gen, Home, M/M, Other, Reddie, soft reddie feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 11:16:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15629586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/richietortellini/pseuds/richietortellini
Summary: Eddie wonders what the meaning of home is.





	Home

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: some Homophobic mentions/slurs.

Home. **  
**

It was something that Eddie had never really known. Sure, he had a house. He had a mother. But, the phrase ‘ _a house doesn’t make a home_ ’ always seemed to itch away at the teens skin. He knew it when he was twelve, after a fight with his mother and he had no safe place to go. He knew it when he heard Bill talking about Stan.

“ _Home’s not a p-puh-place. It’s a feeling._ ”

A feeling.

Eddie had a lot of feelings. All too often, he was ridiculed for it at school, at the store and even in the street. ‘Sissy’ they would call him.

“ _There goes that Sissy boy Kaspbrak_ ” and “ _Don’t sit with that Sissy Fag_ ”.

There was a million phrases burned into his mind, weighing him down and causing him to sink on all those nights he found himself unable to sleep. The howling echo of each and every word muttered under the breath of Derry’s finest would leave his skin prickling in the worst of ways; hairs on his arms standing to attention as anxiety overwhelmed his system.

He would often run the memories so vividly through his mind that he would leave himself paralysed, staring up at that white roof, shadows dancing through the window.

In class, the whispers of those around him would make his blood boil. He would sit there, quietly in his seat as always as he felt the words seep through every visible pore on his body. It wasn’t the gum under the desk that made Eddie scrub at his hands every break.

It was the words.

Richie was good with words. Richie could (and would) talk for hours, without stopping, about nothing at all. As annoying and inappropriate as he could be, he was the most charismatic person Eddie knew.

That was part of the reason Eddie liked being around Richie so much. Where words usually stung, they drizzled over him like honey when Richie spoke, when he laughed; even when he did those stupid voices. Nothing made Eddie feel as warm and complete as Richie’s voice did, and he came to that realisation at the bud of one of the taller teens jokes.

“Eds? Are you even in there? You totally missed the best part!”

The shorter teen blinked, turning his attention up to Richie’s face before shaking his head. “I zoned out, Rich. Sorry.” Richie only groaned.

“You always do that, you know!” He started, “You’re always zonin’ out when I get to the best part! The punchline!” Richie soon huffed, though it was mostly for dramatic effect. “It’s alright. Just means I can tell you again! So–”

Eddie smiled.

He smiled as he watched Richie smile through his words. He watched long arms and fingers move through the air as if they were telling the story. He watched the crease of oak eyes and crinkle of his freckled nose. He listened to the heavenly sound of laughter as it rang past full, pink lips.

He’d missed the joke again.

“Aw, c’mon Eds! You can’t do this every time! We’ll be here forever!” Richie was laughing still. If anything, he found Eddie’s gaze endearing, and he couldn’t help how wide his smile seemed to grow.

Looking out over the empty plain, Eddie fiddled with the grass between his fingers, sun belting down on his neck as warm, summer wind whirled through his hair and tickled his face; though maybe that was the pollen. He could already feel the sunburn forming, but he didn’t care. “Is being here forever a bad thing?”

“I never said that, Eds. You’re puttin’ words in my mouth there.” Richie sent a wink Eddie’s way, and the younger had to turn his attention back over the foothills. He pulled at the grass again, revelling in the feeling that shot through his stomach. Butterflies and nothing short of pure warmth coiling and twisting in his centre; leaving him feeling weak and his heart beating faster.

 _If home’s a feeling_ , he thought,  _I’ve found it._


End file.
